


Dan Has A Panic Attack

by Gays_From_Mars



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23422741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gays_From_Mars/pseuds/Gays_From_Mars
Summary: Something I wrote a million years ago before Dan said he had depression. Previously posted on Wattpad and is absolutely one big pile of dog crap.Basically, Dan's doing a live show and the chat goes crazy about the Phan ship. Panic attack ensues and Phil comforts him.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Kudos: 13





	Dan Has A Panic Attack

What the hell was I thinking? I recalled what I had said on the livestream that I just ended. Someone near the end of the stream, most likely looking for phan proof, had asked how close I was to Phil and, like the fucking idiot I was, I said probably exactly what they wants, "I haven't been closer to anyone in my entire life." As soon as that slipped out of my mouth, I knew I had fucked up. What part of my brain thought that was going to go well?

The comments seemed to have some serious diarrhea through the next five minutes and, after that, the occasional shart of the Phangirl That Never Forgets for the rest of the stream.

I wanted to slam my laptop shut and throw it against the wall but, against my hand's will, I very softly closed the folding, bright rectangle and carefully placed it on the coffee table in front of me. Why did I even read that comment out loud, anyway. I could have just scanned over it, read any other question out loud, and forgotten about the stupid question. Now, even more people will be convinced about us dating. As if trying to keep our relationship a secret wasn't hard enough, we were nominated the most shipped YouTubers of 2017 by Tumbler, for Christ sake. I've just gone and let off even more evidence for the Tumblerinos to pick apart and shove their way deeper into my personal life. 

My breathing became quick and shallow as my throat began to close up. Panic attack, I told myself, this is a panic attack. Not another panic attack. I can't even do a live stream without having a panic attack. I couldn't let Phil see. I couldn't let Phil waste his energy on me. I exposed us even more. I don't deserve his comfort. This was my punishment. 

I stood up with my legs feeling ready to collapse. I wondered if I should take my laptop to my room. Either have a distraction from my mind and possibly have my declining of my current mental well-being be deteriorated even more or be alone to my own devices and have a very small chance of calming myself down. I went for the latter my room alone. 

I stumbled through the apartment to my room. I tried to calm my breathing as I fought the urge to crumple to the floor and have my stupid panic attack there. But I couldn't let Phil see. He doesn't deserve it. Just the thought of Phil seeing me like that again made my stomach lurch into my throat. 

I entered my room and closed my door. As I pushed my way under the covers, I thought that Phil should have just left me for someone else. There'd be less stress on him to keep it a secret if they were less known and they couldn't fuck up as big as I could if they tried. He wouldn't have to always worry about if I'm going to have a panic attack at Starbucks or some other completely safe place. He'd definitely be able to go outside more and enjoy life in stead of holing himself up with me as company. I'm arrogant, and sarcastic, and boring, and a wimp.

My chest heaved. Hyperventilating. Shit. I shoved my fist into my mouth. I couldn't even breath right. I felt my hot breath on my hand and I realized just how much I was hyperventilating. This was the worst I had ever hyperventilated. Wait, was it? I couldn't remember. Why couldn't I remember? Was there something wrong with me? Was I having a stroke? Was I going to die? What if Phil just found me on my bed dead? He'd be devastated. That's why I shouldn't meet people. They'll feel bad about my death over someone else's like the fucking queen. If I could slowly disconnect myself from everybody in my life, they wouldn't have to mourn over a death like mine. I didn't deserve the attention. I'm going to die anyway.

Staring up at my ceiling, I began to see dark, hazy, tentacle-like arms swirling upwards. Tunnel vision. Tunnel vision. I'm going to pass out. Phil is going to find me passed out and think that I said something idiotic and just casually fell asleep. And, if he wasn't angry, he would be worried that I fell asleep at 8:30. I couldn't do either if those to him. I grabbed my duvet and stuffed it into my mouth. That would stop me from breathing too hard. 

'But,' I thought, 'what if I was going to pass out from lack of oxygen, instead.' I mean, my throat felt like it was closed up and my chest felt heavy. I pulled the soggy duvet out of my mouth and allowed my lungs full access to the oxygen in my room. I noticed that I felt like I was suffocating. Was there even oxygen in the room? Was there another gas leak? What if there was something that blocked my breathing in my lungs? Could there be something in my lungs stopping me from breathing? Maybe somebody poisoned me. Maybe Phil poisoned me to get away from me. I tried to imagine Phil doing that but couldn't. For some stupid reason, that still felt like a valid reason for my lack of oxygen.

'You know Phil wouldn't do something like that,' I scolded myself. 'But you never know,' another part of me said, 'there are so many people that get drugged by close friends. 

A pounding broke through my thoughts. Was it the strychnine police to arrest Phil? But how would they know that I'd been poisoned? And how do I know ow I've been poisoned in the first place?

The small bit of logic left in me told me that it was Phil. But even then, something told me that he was angry. That was a fucking pound on the door, not a polite knock. 

"Dan?" a familiar voice called, "are you there?"

Shit. Shit. He knew. He knew I was having a panic attack. I hoped that if I stayed silent, he'd think I wasn't in my room and forget about me. He didn't deserve to waste his time on me. But what if he knew about what I said. He's angry. Why did I say that? I wanted to vomit. I wanted to pass out so he couldn't yell at me. I wanted to run away. I wanted to die.

"Hey, Dan," I heard the door creak open. I froze all movements and stopped breathing. 'Do not come in,' I silently begged, 'do not come in.' 

"Dan," his voice was so soft, it almost sounded accusing, like a mother about to ask if her toddler stole a cookie, "I was watching the livestream." I began choking in breaths and curled into a ball, facing away from him. "Are you upset about what I think you are." I curled even further into my ball and hugged my knees to my chest as tight as I could.

A hand placed itself on my back. "It's alright." A small moment of relief washed over me until I realized something: he was lying. Of course he was. That was obviously forced calmness. Nobody is that calm. He was upset but he knew I was having a panic attack so he was being soft on me. He was furious with me but he knew that I was too mentally unstable to know. Oh, God, stop being nice. I wanted Phil to actually tell me how he felt. I wasn't so weak that I couldn't handle the truth! I want to know the truth. 

I wiggled away from him, hoping that he got the message that I wanted to be alone. But he never did. He didn't want me being alone during panic attacks because he thought that I couldn't handle them on my own. 

"Dan, deep breaths." How was I supposed to take deep breaths if I couldn't even take a shallow breath? He knew I was suffocating. He wanted me to suffocate. He wanted me dead for saying that. My throat was closing in even more and I took faster, more frantic breaths. 

"Dan, you need to pay attention to me." Oh Christ, I am paying paying attention to you. There's nothing for me to breath in. I can't breath. I literally can't breathe. "Can I touch you?" I hesitated. He could use this as an opportunity to hurt me. With my consent. Still, something inside of me told me to say yes. I could trust him. Maybe. Hopefully.

I nodded. I felt a sudden wave of heat and nausea wash over my body and a shiver ran its way down my spine. Slowly, Phil reached out, grabbed my hand, and placed it on his chest. I eyed it uneasily. "Breath with me. The slower and deeper you breath, the more air you get. You want to try one second in, one second holding, and one second out?" I closed my eyes and nodded. This was my breathing technique. Breath slower and slower until you calm down. Because, hey, if you think that you're suffocating, try breathing even slower. 

He breathed in, "one," he held, "one," he breathed out, "one." I followed shaky breaths in, sometimes I took two breaths while breathing in or breathing in while I was supposed to breath out. Phil let my mess ups slide oh-so horribly patiently. I hated how he had to deal with me. He was eventually got my breathing to slow down to 5 seconds in, 4 seconds holding, and 7 seconds out. 

"Do you want a hug?" 'You don't deserve it,' something whispered in the back of my head. I tried to push the thought away and I nodded. 

Phil wrapped his long arms around my trembling body. The warmth that engulfed me wasn't like the white hot fire that pulsed through my veins and pulled me through the pits of terror, but a comforting warmth that made me feel like a small part of the distance between me and sanity was a cut down a little. Of course, that gap still felt hundreds of miles long.

'You don't deserve this,' the something seemed to whisper louder. 'You twat sucking away at his happiness.' I sobbed into Phil's shoulder. 'You're snotting all over his clothes, you're so gross.'

"I'm sorry," I managed to get past my sobbing.

"Don't say that," Phil said firmly, rubbing my back. 'Oh you're lucky to have a damn patient 'friend' to try that hard. You don't deserve a fuck of what he's saying.'

I leaned back to look him in the eyes but didn't find the courage to make eye contact. I just looked off to the side and mumbled, "I'm not just saying sorry because I just want to say something, Phil. I'm saying sorry because you have to pull me out of a panic attack every time I go outside or say something stupid. I don't fucking deserve you."

Phil opened his mouth. 'Here comes the lies that he only says to make you feel better.' "Dan, you're panic attacks don't make you less deserving of being happy."

I didn't have the energy to say back what the voice was saying, 'but people don't deserve to be happy when they make another person unhappy. Would you say that a murderer should be deserving of happiness? You just murdered a perfectly normal night.'

"You mean so much to me." 'So much pain.' "I've been with you for so much of my life." 'Because you've been hogging do much of it with your 'mental illness' that may or may not be faked. "I can't imagine life without you." 'Because you depend on him so much and he can't imagine freedom anymore.'

His words were supposed to be encouraging but I really wanted to be alone. But just for a little bit, I was too scared of getting hurt. "Can you get me some water?" I wiped my eyes and turned away.

"Of course," he gave a small smile and walked out the room. For the small moment of time in solitude, I burrowed my whole body under the covers, turned away from the door, and closed my eyes. I was so exhausted and I felt like shit.

I heard Phil's footsteps enter our room and a glass clink onto my nightstand. "Your water is here." I wormed my way out if the covers and sipped at the water. It helped soften the sludgy saliva in my mouth but did not feel to great in my stomach. I took one mouthful, swished it around, swallowed it, and set the cup down. 

"Thank you." I mumbled, turning back to my previous position. 

"No problem," he sat on the bed and eventually nuzzled his way under the duvet with me. He pressed his stomach against my back and snaked his arms around my waist. "Do you think you'll be up for dinner tonight?"

I shook my head, "I think I'll vomit if I try to eat a cucumber."

"Why specifically a cucumber?"

"Nevermind." I felt like vomiting again when Phil chuckled. I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing again.

"Dan I think it's time to tell the fans," Phil said, "I think hiding this is more stressful than dealing with the homophobes."

"I don't want them to know," my voice went to a higher pitch than usual, "I don't want them to hate us."

"Most of them are already convinced that we're a couple. There probably won't be much of a shock, more just fangirling." I knew he purposefully left out the YouTube videos and articles that would inevitably be made. "Just think about it tonight and tell me how you feel about it tomorrow."

'He doesn't want the fans to know either,' the voice said, 'he's just doing this to make you feel better, you ungrateful fuck.' 

Still, the next day, I told Phil that I wanted to make the video.


End file.
